


Ah, but I'm singing like a bird, 'bout it now

by Tyranno



Category: Shadowscent - P. M. Freestone
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kissing, M/M, Missing Scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18535480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: Prince Nisai pulled him from the gutter and, in one evening, turned Ash's life upside down. It feels like he's been scrambling for purchase ever since.





	Ah, but I'm singing like a bird, 'bout it now

**Author's Note:**

> the source material for this one is only okay in my opinion, But this kind of ship is my kryptonite, so i must write this. 
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> title is from Hozier -- "Shrike"
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Ash came to consciousness all at once, in a flush of sensation.

He stumbled backwards, stars bursting behind his eyes. A metallic smell almost overwhelmed him, like copper coating the inside of his mouth and nose. His bare feet caught on stone and he shuddered to a halt, eyes swimming with tears.

Blood covered his brown feet. His hands were slick and warm, his fingernails chipped and raw. His vision was still blurry, but he made out the shapes of slumped bodies around him. It looked like an animal attack, but some part of Ash knew it hadn’t been.

It felt like a tide was rising in him, emotion churning in him like water pressing against a dam. His joints were stiffening, like his body was rusting over. He started to shake.

Suddenly—the other boy, the boy from earlier, bounded into his vision.

His soft, round face filled Ash’s vision. His dark eyelashes. His deep eyes.

The boy’s hand lifted and, slowly, as if he thought Ash might startle like a feral animal, touches Ash’s cheek. He pushed back a thick matt of untidy hair. Distantly, Ash registered the boy’s hand curling around his own, despite the gore, and squeezing.

Ash wanted to squeeze the boy’s hand back, but can’t summon the energy.

The boy shifted back, hand still holding his, and tugs. Ash, with no energy to resist, allowed himself to be pulled away.

 

*

 

Later, in the bowels of a Royal barge, with his body washed with perfumed water and hair properly groomed for what might be the first time ever, Ash watched the other boy with big, shocked eyes. His gaze follows Nisai as the boy pads around restlessly.

“A Prince?” Ash asks, voice breaking a little. His chest burns—he doesn’t know if he’s impressed or stunned or fearful. A part of him feels, strangely, betrayed.

Nisai looked embarrassed. He scratched the back of his head, “Yeah.”

 

*

 

Nisai held his hand when he pleaded Ash’s case. He held his hand after, when they both walked the long, cold corridors of the palace. Nisai’s bright, chirping voice bounced off the bare stone like a stone dropping down a deep ravine. Ash said nothing, only holding Nisai’s hand tight in his own. There was a bubble of warmth in his chest like a very, very precious gift.

 

*

 

The first chop of the scissors removed a thick handful of dark hair. It made a dramatic difference, uncovering bare neck, the remaining hair sticking up at an odd angle from the uneven cut. Nisai cut more, hair tumbling over Ash’s shoulders. His hair was so stubborn he could only cut a small chunks at a time, but even so, the curve of his scalp was quickly uncovered.

Nisai rubbed his hands over Ash’s head, brushing away the loose hair. The black hair is soft against his palms, like animal fur. _House cat_ , he though, smiling.

“It’s weird,” Ash said, staring at himself in the polished bronze mirror. He tilts his head, admiring Nisai’s rough handiwork. “I’ve never seen it this short before.”

“It’ll be shorter yet,” Nisai said, fetching a cloth and dipping it into warm water. He squeezed it under the surface.

“Mm, be careful with the knife,” Ash said, although there was no worry in his voice.

“You’ll heal.”

“Very funny,” Ash said, “If I’m missing ears you’ll be the one regretting it when we get ambushed or something.”

“Well, you’ve still got eyes, haven’t you?” Nisai drew the wash clothe out of the basin, dipping water everywhere, and slapped it onto the back of Ash’s scalp, washing his head gently.

“For now. But I wouldn’t underestimate you with a knife.”

That drew a laugh from Nisai. When he was finished warming the other boy’s scalp with the wash cloth, he opened a small flask of oil. Warm rosemary and lavender scent buffeted his face. He poured the shaving oil into the cupped palm of his hands and rubbed his hands together, the slick cool in his hands.

Nisai put his hands on his head. When he scrubbed, the ends of the hair prickle his hands. His scalp was very, very warm, like sunbaked stone. The Prince’s hands felt the muscles in the boy’s temple shift as he opens his mouth.

“Smells nice,” Ash said.

As he moved his hands over the crown of his head, he starts to run out of oil and reapplied some more. He knew to be liberal with the application. When he is finished, the new Shield’s head glistened like polished bronze.

Nisai drew his shaving knife.

For all that he joke about cutting Ash’s ears off, he had gone to great lengths to learn the proper technique. He had spent all of the previous day reading about the ritual, about how to hold the blade and how to shave the scalp properly. The blade still felt unnatural and strange in his hands.

With one hand tightening the skin, he pressed the blade almost flat to Ash’s temple and drew it upwards. Cut hair speckled the back of his hands, sticking to the remitment of oil. Nisai drew the blade over the same area, revealing a small patch of bare scalp, soft. Nisai edged the knife upwards in small motions, shaving patch by patch.

Ash rested his head on the back of his chair, sighing softly.

The room was warm, slightly smokey from the big fire grates that studded the walls. Sweat prickled in Nisai’s elbows, under his chin. He worked for a long time. His neck started to ache from holding his head at strange angles to peer down at the other boy’s scalp.

To his own surprise, he hadn’t actually nicked the skin yet. But his technique was far from perfect—Ash would have to wake up well before dawn if he was going to take this long to shave his own scalp.

Eventually, though, Nisai had finished all that he could reach. He took a moment to stretch, wriggling his stiff fingers, until he cleared his throat.

“Ash, you have to move your head now,” Nisai said.

No response.

Nisai peered around at Ash’s face. Ash had fallen asleep. Nisai smothered a laugh.

 

*

 

When Nisai had finished the other side of his head too, Ash was still sleepy. His dark eyes were half-lidded, his hands folded in his lap.

Nisai washed the remainders of the hair from his head, but the oil was tenacious and would stay for a few days, even if only as a faint aroma of herbs. Ash was pliable and sleep-warm, allowing Nisai to move him however he wanted. As Nisai massaged a warm cloth into his skin, his eyes drifted shut again.

 

*

 

The tattoos were harder.

The method had seemed barbaric when Nisai had read about them. The tattooist used a small wooden tool which ended in four close set razors. These tiny razors were dipped in a thin layer of black ink and the weapon repeatedly punctured the skin to deliver the ink to a lower layer of flesh.

Nisai could only watch as Ash stripped, bare brown back laid out for the artist, who started at the base of Ash’s neck. The tool broke the skin in quick, short successions. The same area was attacked again. Each blow seemed to hit Nisai too, who shrunk away. Blood beaded the skin. When the artist wiped the boy’s skin, all those blows had only laid a small black line, the width and breadth of a fingernail mark.

A sense of unease overcame Nisai. Traditional tattoos covered the whole body. The process stretched ahead of them, endless and painful.

 

*

 

Ash settled across from Nisai, silent as a hunting animal. He only waits for the Prince, who had noticed him immediately, to put the scroll down. Bandages stretched over Ash’s chest and there was a tiredness around his eyes.

“Did it hurt?” Nisai asked, voice fragile. He kicked himself for the question—of course it did. He expected Ash to be angry.

“Not so bad,” Ash said, “I’ve had much worse.”

Somehow, that reply was more painful to hear. Nisai felt such an urge to do something about it, it almost overtook him, “Do you want to read with me?”

Ash blinked at him.

“You can read whatever you want,” Nisai continued, speaking quickly, “The Palace has a huge selection, there are tales of romance, battle retelling, some myths and—”

“I can’t read.”

Nisai stopped dead, perplexed. He fixed Ash with a startled look.

“I-I...” Ash flushed, scratching the back of his neck, “I never learned.”

“Not even a little bit?” Nisai asked. To him, the notion seemed oddly bizarre, like hearing someone who had never learned to walk. He knew of people who disliked reading, people who read only when they had to—but before now he had never thought that someone might not be able to do it at all.

Ash’s gaze was fixed pointedly on the floor, shoulders bunched.

Nisai chewed his lip, “You’re… You can still learn, right? I can have one of my tutors teach you!”

Ash looked up in surprise.

“You’ll need to learn,” Nisai said, “Then you can read with me. It’ll be easy!”

Ash’s expression lightened and he smiled, “I’d like that.”

Nisai beamed at him, heart light.

 

*

 

As soon as his tattoos had healed, Ash was spirited away by some section of the household, and Nisai read alone. Sometimes he caught glimpses of the other boy, being shepherded by one of his trainers. Sometimes Ash was wounded, sometimes limping, sometimes tired, other times looking more resigned. He had been alone for most of his life, save for the children of some of his tutors who would sometimes read with him.

Somehow, this time it felt more lonely. He missed Ash’s warmth, his strangeness.

 

*

 

It was a few moons before Ash returned, and when he had, both of them had grown. Ash was a head and a pair of eyes taller than him now, his shoulders seemed broader. The tattoos had healed to deep black under his dark skin.

Nisai was so excited to see him, it felt like there was energy crackling under his skin. He wanted to be near him.

He told Ash all about the new literature he had read, and even managed to coax Ash into sharing something about his time spent training. They talked, busy and restless, their feet tangling together under the table.

 

*

 

Ash woke up one morning to the smell of citrus.

The little burst of fruity, pleasant smell diffused through the dark room. Ash blinked, slowly. Somehow, he sensed there was no danger.

There was a weight on the end of his pallet, warmth of a body separated from his by fabric. Ash’s eyes adjust to the light, and saw Nisai watching him. The Prince’s eyes were dark, the pupils broad in the gloom.

“You’re strange,” Ash said, voice rough with sleep.

“And you’re a terrible guard,” Nisai said, around the clementine segment he popped into mouth, “You didn’t wake up when I was walking around, making a ruckus.”

“I knew it was you,” Ash said, breathing deeply.

Nisai had a strange look around him. He was usually so expressive, so easy to read, but his eyes were deep and unfathomable. His teeth sunk into the clementine piece, juice dribbling down his chin, down his throat, which bobbed as he swallowed. His other hand was half-curled in the sheets.

“May I have a piece?” Ash asked.

Nisai picked up the last of the clementine pieces and put it in his mouth. He kept his eyes locked on Ash as he chewed.

Ash wanted to make some joke, some witty response, but none could get past the thick lump in his throat. He could only watch the Prince eat. The room was filled with a pale orange twilight, the shadows long and shallow, slipping into each other in a haze.

Slow as a hunting animal, graceful as anything, the Prince rose to his knees and leaned towards him. Nisai’s hair was scattered around his ears.

He kissed him.

Citrus burst over Ash’s tongue, sharp and sweet and delicious. Nisai’s touch was warm and light, his mouth hot on him. A bead of juice rolled down the side of Ash’s face.

The Prince leaned upwards, breaking the contact. And suddenly, he was Nisai again, familiar and wary and uncertain. The boy looked down at Ash, smiling crookedly, a tremor of nerves shaking his arm.

“Was that alright?” Nisai asked, biting his lip.

“That was… alright, yeah,” Ash swallowed a mouthful of clementine, “That was really, really alright.”

Nisai’s hands came down on either side of Ash’s head, followed by his elbows as he leaned even closer. Their noses brushed.

“Let me try again,” Nisai said.

They were breathing the same air. He could feel the heat of the Prince, the weight of him pressing him into the mattress. Ash was dizzy with the scent, the remainders of the fruit, the distant heights of jasmine, the salt of sweat.

Ash swallowed thickly and nodded.

Nisai kissed him again. And again. And again, again, again.

**Author's Note:**

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> If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment :)


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